I haven’t had the fortitude to be on social media lately. Honestly, I’m weary of the contention and dissent and unrest that scrolling brings about for me. I’ve been popping on randomly to check on you, my dear ones, and that’s about it, but we’ve had a roller coaster of a month and I’m feeling the need to check in with you all and tell you that you matter to me, and even if I don’t comment to say so on your posts, I’m supremely grateful for these glimpses into your lives. I have love in my heart and a wish for hope and happiness in my prayers for all of you. Hug your kiddos, send smoochie faces to your loveys, and hold tight to the people who matter. Life is fleeting, and how we treat each other in these moments and days that sometimes feel so ordinary and unimportant, matters. They matter so very much. They’re gone in an instant, and I wish for none of us to ever feel regret for what we did with those moments.
Just one of those moments ago, I sent my husband out the door to drive an hour north, stand in line for a Covid-19 test, and receive permission to enter the choir loft of the Conference Center in Salt Lake City, where he will sing hymns with half the Tabernacle Choir for two conference sessions today.
Two years ago, this type of morning had almost become ordinary. We’d followed the routine many times, minus the prerequisite nasal swab. But after two years of missing the opportunity? It feels monumental. I hope he enjoys every moment of it.
A couple of weeks ago, I lost a cousin. She was the cousin who would text me on these mornings, who would say, “We’ll be watching for David today!” And over the last two years, instead she texted to say, “It must be bittersweet to have your sweetheart sitting next to you on the sofa instead of watching him sing, but enjoy him next to you while you can!” Even those texts, though always welcomed, had maybe become ordinary, but now I’ll never receive another one from her.
So, this morning as I send David off to reclaim his routine (albeit there won’t be anything routine about it for quite some time) I’ll imagine my cousin, nestled on a big cozy couch with all my loved ones in heaven, waiting to spot David in the choir. The heavenly realms probably don’t “tune in” to conference that way, but I get the feeling that they get to watch, and add their spirits to the meetings, maybe even in those empty chairs between the choir folks.
Ultimately, there’s nothing ordinary about any of these moments of human experience we share. Each moment matters, and as we all struggle to find footing on the uneven ground of a new normal, I hope we remember that every word we speak matters, every note we sing matters, every text, every post, every comment, matters. And, especially, you matter. You matter to me, dear ones, and I’m grateful to have you in my life. I might not always say it in a comment, but I ❤️ you.
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